


Just as real as STEM

by Shurely



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: A trip to Starbucks, Artificial Intelligence, Green Goo Addiction, M/M, brief mentions of memes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:46:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shurely/pseuds/Shurely
Summary: One-shots from tumblr. RuSeb if you squint.





	1. Green Goo

**Author's Note:**

> A follow-up fic from [this post](http://samiltonbattmann.tumblr.com/post/167338297812/tew-fic-ideas-god-i-just-wanna-write-noir-au). Inspired by [this goddamn gorgeous art](http://delborovic.tumblr.com/post/161530710346/started-replaying-tew-with-a-new-game-and) by [delborovic](http://delborovic.tumblr.com/) and that fanfic that I can’t seem to find but describes Seb dealing with his newfound superhuman abilities post-STEM (if you find it, please link it!)

STEM is not inherently cruel.

Under one mind, it twisted with wire, and scattered reality like gouts of blood and shards of glass.

Under another mind, it melted, soft and oozing, and what rose from each pool of consciousness dribbled back into the well.

It moulded and re-moulded and flexed with each intention, every unheard thought finding its own shape according to the Core.

It took his partner, his trust in his subordinate, his respect in the workplace, and it gave him prudence, uncanny reflexes, a purpose.

It took his guilt, his distrust in his ex-subordinate, his unrest, and it gave him grief, unanswered questions, an addiction.

The latter, thinks Sebastian, was unintentional – by anyone’s standards.

The first jar had sat on his desk – the unreal one, dusty with flakes of plaster as the world around it struggled not to collapse – and he’d sniffed it, dipped a finger in it, watched it slide along the glass as he turned his wrist.

The nurse had taken it, and she had given him strength.

Given stamina: untiring muscles, clear lungs, supple joints.

Given clarity: steady hands, better spatial awareness.

He must have slowed time more than once, he thinks.

One led to another, which led to more, and then a must. He began to anticipate the shots into his forearms, syringes creaking into place around his crown. No jolt was gentle. Each euphoria was fresh.

Sebastian came out of STEM with vigour in his veins and his daughter in his arms.

He sits on the sofa, fighting the urge to move – the energetic kind, the fight-or-flight instinct that has yet to leave. It’s a youthful blessing that he doesn’t deserve and can’t explain, since he’s sure that it’s all up in his head.

He doesn’t check, though. He’s seen enough gore to ignore spilling his own, but it’s morbid if he takes to pricking himself to see if green seeps out instead of blood.

Sebastian sits and drinks whilst Lily chatters next to him. She doesn’t sit on the rug any more; her drawings are beginning to find some semblance of style, which – Sebastian had lamented to her – was not a patch on her old pancake faces.

She draws whenever he asks her to come inside, because otherwise he’d lose her to the freedom of wandering the neighbourhood streets. She studies when he shoves books under her nose, because otherwise she won’t be ready for school – or so he fears, despite the look Lily shot him when she told him crossly that she’d had her own tutors in between ‘lab time’, but he can’t quantify whatever knowledge they’ve imparted to her, so he’s just making sure.

She gets her own tablet and her own phone, even though Sebastian never had anything like that at her age, and she gets three square meals a day, her five-a-day, everyday. He keeps his smile whilst she’s awake, but they’ve both had miserable nights now that they’ve moved away from Krimson City, so as long as the tears are gone by breakfast, they can control their heartache.

Lily tells him about the art museum in town, and his hands start to tremble. He drinks his coffee.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian keeps drinking but he knows that gnawing at the back of his head, and coffee, squash, and beer won’t do.

He tries liquor. After the first round of STEM, it hadn’t done much, but years and habit persisted and his sudden tolerance waned into need. He’d needed it before STEM; he’d wanted it after STEM.

Maybe this is just another cycle, he thinks ruefully as he uncaps the whisky and adds it to his coffee.

He takes a sip before he realises: he can’t do this. His body freezes whilst the coffee warms his throat, trickling down just as horror sets over him. It’s a new life that he’s making here with Lily, in a new town and with new principles. He’s going to do this _right_. He drank to forget. He’s not going back.

His body seems to agree, because it doesn’t react to either the coffee or the whisky.

 

* * *

 

He drops a tin of tomatoes and bites off a swear when it paints the kitchen tiles and cupboards.

It wasn’t even a fumble. He’d just opened the lid and been going to put it into the saucepan, when his fingers had spasmed and he’d created his own crime scene.

Lily peers into the kitchen with a curious “Dad?” and he’s quick to shoo her away, nudge the door in an effort to keep her away. “It’s fine,” he says, “just dropped something, I’m gonna clear it up.”

She lingers but doesn’t offer to help, and he sighs with relief when she goes off humming Moana. Then he fills a glass with water and drinks long and ceaselessly with one hand, his throat burning even though the water is winter cold. When he refills his glass, he thinks better of it and holds it in both hands, guiding it to his lips like communion.

It’s familiar, but not intimately. He’s tried to drag himself away from alcohol before – hell, he’d even had counselling after the IA report (thanks, Joseph, he thinks, and sags again with grief) – but alcohol was habit, its claws having sunk deep into his body.

This ache is newer, but he’s felt it before. He leans against the counter, catching his breath, and rubs a cool hand down his face as he internally groans at the mess he has to clear.

 

* * *

 

It’s been six months since STEM. The ache winds and pulls at him, firing off his nerves in little tics. He can still carry heavy boxes and suitcases without trouble; he can loop the neighbourhood block twice and delve into town and back without any bodily complaints. The optician is impressed when he can rattle off those tiny letters from the wall. His record says that he needs reading glasses, but he sees her tuck away the leaflet for the bifocals.

There’s a shooting range an hour out from the town. He goes twice, whilst Lily is making friends with her new schoolmates. The hunger, the strange impatience inside him doesn’t improve on either occasion. People shake hands and offer to buy him drinks afterwards. They want to discuss their military days, which they seem to assume Sebastian must share. He doesn’t tell them that he’s just a washed-up ex-cop from Krimson PD.

In the end, he only goes twice, so whatever curiosity they must harbour is theirs to figure out.

Besides, he knows now that the shock he wants doesn’t come from a rifle’s recoil, and beer won’t slake his thirst. He knows that STEM has given him new limits, which he hopes he’ll never have to test, and that it must have taken something in return, because he can’t look at empty jars without a pang of loss and disappointment, and when he sees the right kind of armchair, he half-expects the cushions to grow cold and metallic whilst syringes slide into place.

It’s more of an irritation at the moment, but he must be growing as a person, because he thinks about the future – incredible – and wonders how long he can go without this addiction before he starts to crumble.


	2. Artificial Intelligence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this [tumblr post](http://imagineruvik.tumblr.com/post/142959966043/imagine-ruviks-mind-accidently-being-uploaded-to) by imagineruvik:
> 
> "imagine ruvik’s mind accidently being uploaded to another electronic device, maybe an i-phone or something.
> 
> imagine asking siri a question and it’s ruvik who answers"

It was the 21st century, argued Joseph, and that warranted a better form of communication than the old Nokia that Sebastian carried. The notches on its case were proof of its survivorship, the scratches on its screen the scars of the years. It was wind-proof, shock-proof, and – to his satisfaction – alcohol-proof.

But all good things come to an end, and the Nokia’s screen was getting pixelated, enough for Joseph to sigh and Kidman to smirk whenever he pulled it out. The tinny sound of its ringtone elicited groans from the office, until his partner physically came up to him and politely told him to consider buying a new one. Sebastian had snorted: like hell he would get one of those glass rectangles that every kid on the block seemed to own, the faces splintered into spider webs.

It took a bit of nagging and cajoling, Kidman even _accidentally_ stepping on it with her heels, for Sebastian to finally concede, glowering and cursing under his breath. 

It came a day late in the post, in a strangely burnt cardboard box. Sebastian shook his head, wondering what kind of shit it had already gone through and whether it was still intact, and brought it into the kitchen, using a knife to slice through the tape.

When he opened its case, he pursed his lips with surprise at the sight of the unbroken, glossy black screen. Instructions were tucked underneath, and he weighed it in one hand whilst picking up and skimming through the first page, before abandoning the leaflet and inspecting the phone more closely. It had some kind of insignia on the back, the same as on the case. Where the hell were all of the buttons? He could only count four; the rest was just screen.

His gut twisted with trepidation, but he braced his shoulders and tried each of the buttons. Nothing happened. He gritted his teeth. He could already feel his nails wearing scratches into the back.

It would be a long afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Joseph, naturally, was the first to notice his change of device, peering interestedly at it.

“You went for an iPhone?” he said mildly.

Sebastian grunted, stuffing it into the back pocket of his trousers. He was spared having to reply by the arrival of a file being slapped on his desk by the lieutenant, and then went to sit down. All too late, he remembered the image of the other phones, and hoped last minute that it would survive. 

What he did not expect, however, was a voice snapping at him.

“Blundering fool.”

Sebastian froze. He glanced at Joseph, who had found interest in his own phone.

“Hey Joseph,” he said, raising off the chair by an inch to extract the device. “Did you hear that?”

Joseph looked up, fingers pausing over the tiny buttons. Sebastian had contemplated one of those, but quickly decided against it when comparing the buttons with the span of his own finger pads. “Excuse me?”

“Just now.” He stared at the screen: the background had turned translucent dark grey, with some sort of symbol at the bottom. He prodded it, and the phone vibrated in his hand as the symbol turned into a fluctuating bar. When he pressed it again, the symbol returned. “Never mind.”

“You all right? Is there something wrong with your phone?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “I heard…the phone.” Joseph looked at him intently. God, it sounded crazy. “I heard a voice.”

Joseph relaxed. “Oh. That was probably just Siri.”

“What?”

“It’s the iPhone’s AI. If you hold down the home button, it will perform functions for you, hands-free." 

“And it talks?” said Sebastian warily, eyeing the phone. Joseph responded affirmative. Technology these days. Those tech whizzes had gone too far. What was next: talking TVs? “Can I disable it?”

“Yes, if you go into the settings. I’ll leave you to it.” With that, Joseph left his office, and Sebastian groaned, sitting his phone onto the desk.

“You’re a real fucking menace,” he growled at it.

At least it didn’t answer back. But he was acutely aware of the little camera at the top, watching him. The hairs on his nape pricked.

 

* * *

 

It was a week later that he accidentally activated it again. It must have pressed against his keys, because he felt it vibrate, and just as he fished it out, it said in the same rough, critical voice: “Your incoherency is irritating, but expected from a halfwit such as yourself.”

Whoever had designed this phone – this _Siri_ – had too much time on their hands. It even had its words typed out over the filtered background, glaring at him so that he couldn't miss the message. “Fuck you,” he muttered, hitting the home button to return the background to normal. “Stupid machine." He needed Joseph to sort it out for him.

He accessed his contacts, which he'd filled in by himself after several minutes of stabbing at the screen with his finger and a pack of smokes to settle his frustration. He was fairly certain that there'd been no whisky involved, but the names on the screen made him pause and reconsider.

"'Incompetent Fool No. 1'", he read out. "'Meddling Kid', 'Doughnut Hoarder' - fuck, is that supposed to be Connelly?" He rubbed his forehead, thanking God that none of his colleagues were around. Considering the fact that there was no ‘Joseph’ and no subsequent ‘incompetent fools’ to follow number one, Sebastian could only snort with incredulity.

As for Connelly and who must have been Kidman - well, fair enough, Sebastian had stopped asking how Connelly managed to whip out a doughnut whenever someone had skipped lunch, and Kidman had a habit of walking in to his office when it was supposed to be a private conversation between him and Joseph, goddamnit-

He leant back against the counter. It was just a shitty prank, maybe even by Kidman herself. Or just more of the crazy programming of his phone. Who knew with these advanced machines.

 

* * *

 

"You should use Siri more often," suggested Kidman, regarding him from the rim of her mug as she took a sip. When she lowered the mug, Sebastian huffed. "Make the most of your new phone. You know how to work it, right?"

"I don't need it," he muttered, typing out his report. He had a headache growing, and his hip flask was running low.

"Didn't you have some trouble with it?" prompted Joseph, causing Kidman to glance at him enquiringly. He shrugged, ticking something off his clipboard. Sebastian caught a glimpse of the phone sitting next to his pen pot, innocuous in all of its sleek glory. Joseph had been the one to get him a case for it: rubberised on the sides, but otherwise transparent plastic. He felt a pang of longing for the old Nokia. "Seb?"

Sebastian sighed, picking up the phone. "It's just a pile of junk." 

"What, your old phone?" teased Kidman, wrapping her other hand around the mug. Joseph raised his eyebrows.

"This thing." He waved it. "The software must be fried - plays up all the time."

Joseph hummed, pausing in his scribbling. "You've barely had it for a fortnight."

"I know. That's what you get for-"

"Go on, then," interrupted Kidman, "say something into it. Let's see what it does."

"It just..." Sebastian heaved a sigh, thumb hovering over the home button. "Hell, maybe it's just me." He took a breath, and then held down the button. The phone responded accordingly, and he said, a little more gruffly than a moment before, "Siri, what's seven by six?" 

There was a beat of silence, which Sebastian used to look up at his work mates, and then came the familiar curt snarl: "Weak-brained imbecile."

Sebastian placed his phone down with resigned satisfaction, aware of Kidman's expression of amazement and Joseph's indignation. "See? It's a piece of shit. Knew that it was as soon as it arrived." 

"That's a first," remarked Kidman, nails tapping contemplatively on her mug. "Where did you even get it?"

"Off some cheap website."

"No wonder," she mumbled, taking a drink again. 

"Seb," said Joseph patiently, gesturing to the phone with the nib of his pen, "you should probably go to see the experts in the store. They can help you, figure out what kind of programming has been installed - because that's definitely not supposed to happen."

"I don't know. Kids might get their kicks out of a sassy Siri, right?" Kidman grinned when Joseph frowned at her. "You can't say that it doesn't make a change. What else has it done, Sebastian?"

"Well, whatever wacko installed it really had a fetish for brains, because I don't know why else you would search for pictures of them cut open in fucking lobotomies."

Kidman choked on her coffee. Joseph paled.

" _Damn_ ," she breathed, and Sebastian nodded, turning back to his report. Only a few more hours to go, and then he could leave for the nearest off-licence.

"At least try a factory reset," insisted Joseph. "Connect it to your computer at home and then do it from there. It'll be easier."

"Sure," he grumbled, trying to keep himself from jabbing the keys and breaking them. If he'd known how much trouble this phone was worth, he would have moved on to the next dodgy website. Guess he would be digging out the Nokia from the drawers after all.

 

* * *

 

He had everything set up, as per Joseph's instructions. The computer was up and running, some sort of program on screen, and the iPhone was ready to be connected via its charging cable. What a waste of his time. He ran a thumb over the screen. Just one more thing in his life to throw away.

He traced a path with the pad of his thumb to the home button. What kind of sick psychopath installed something like this anyway, something that messed with his contacts, replaced all of his internet tabs, and left creepy messages in his notes? Not to mention the voice-over, the insults. He pitied the guy whose voice it was: it must have been a pretty serious sore throat. 

Sebastian looked at the screen as it came to life under his touch. Then, feeling foolish and suddenly reckless, said: "Who are you?"

As soon as the words left his lips, he clenched his jaw. The following chuckle made his blood run cold.

“I am your _god_.” Sebastian gripped the phone, unable to tear his gaze from the words filling the screen, the voice grinding on his ears. " _This_ is my will. I created this world, and you cannot keep me here."

Then came another low laugh. “Who do _you_ think you are? I know who you are, _Seb_. I know what you crave, what you fear."

_That’s not a lot either way_ , thought Sebastian, finally connecting the cable. The computer screen lit up with an alert. “I would be surprised if you didn’t, since you live in my fucking phone.” He moved the cursor to the ‘Restore to factory settings’ button, silently thanking Joseph for his input earlier. “But you’re just a glitch in the code,” he added for good measure. “A ghost in this rip-off of a machine.” Then he clicked.

The phone’s screen suddenly blanked, and Sebastian dropped back onto his seat, carding a hand through his hair. Christ, that was one phone company he never wanted to deal with again. He reached for the Nokia, but froze before he could make contact.

"This is my vessel," the voice continued, a little more smug. " _I_ am in control. _I will not be kept here_."

"What the hell." Sebastian snatched up the iPhone. The voice was talking, but without the dark filter and white words over the screen. He gave it a smack. When that failed, he ripped the cable out. The computer complained with a beep. The phone vibrated, and the background distorted for a moment - long enough for Sebastian to recognise a face in the static. “Get. Out. Of. My. Phone.” He punctuated each growl with a slap. Then he held down the power button - when that failed, that and the home button both. 

The phone rumbled with laughter, and Sebastian thought, _Fuck it_ , and dropped the phone. To its credit, it didn’t break. But then he raised his foot. The crunch would be worth it for the fifty dollars, he told himself - and that he wouldn’t have to put up with any more of this AI bullshit.

An ear-splitting screech made him flinch and swear coarsely, glaring at the phone with every intent of splintering it, when a flash of light from the computer monitor prompted him to look upwards and his lips to pull back with fury.

“My computer, too?” he snapped. He reached for the mouse, shaking it around to get the cursor to move, slammed it on the desk when nothing happened. 

“You need me, and there’s no way around it.” The speakers struggled to convey the sound without background static, but by then Sebastian knew the mocking in its voice anyway. He spent a minute trying to regain control of the computer, before giving up with a huff of exasperation. A virus. He should have known.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

The silence that followed managed to convince Sebastian for half a second that this AI-virus had fled his computer - hell, zipped through the internet or however viruses worked, leaving him to infect the web or some other poor idiot or maybe just plain gone.

But then different programs sprung up and code was written across the screen: it accessed Internet Explorer, as though it would really find anything interesting in his emails, flicking through sites too quickly for him to follow. He thought that he saw a few organisational logos. Perhaps it was after the big leagues, hacking the FBI or White House? It wouldn’t be the first time - kids all the time were doing it, as he understood. 

“Will you be able to live with yourself, knowing what I’m going to make you do?” the AI sneered.

Then came a blast of music - almost literally, from the way that Sebastian reeled back - a mixture of klaxons and yelling and someone’s name was being called out. He leapt forwards from his seat to hit the power button on the monitor, not that he expected much, and was rewarded by a change in music that sounded as though it came from some sort of sci-fi program that Joseph liked. Strange pictures popped up on his screen: anthropomorphic frogs, moving images of celebrities, people posing with white text at the top and bottom.

Sebastian’s heart sank. He knew this, had seen it enough when Kidman and Joseph chatted in the morning about their social media, from the links that they sent to him. The true evil within.

Memes.


	3. Pet Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From [this post](http://tall-skinny-scottish.tumblr.com/post/119214486729/imagineruvik-imagine-ruvik-at-starbucks-where) where the gang works at Starbucks and the name Ruben/Ruvik makes for a great pun.

Usually, Ruben wouldn’t take his lunch break – or if he did, it wouldn’t involve leaving the hospital. But the nearest coffee shop was only a five-minute walk away, so he assumed that his absence wouldn’t be too detrimental for the other nurses. Of course, that was if they could cope with their own inadequacy as well, which, Ruben had realised, they struggled to do anyway, but if they could manage it on a day-to-day basis, then they could manage it for twenty minutes without his supervision.

“Look who it is,” said the barista with a grin, leaning on top of the glass cabinet full of cakes, much to the annoyance of his fellow bespectacled colleague. "This is a first. Did the coffee machine in the staff room break down or something?"

Ruben didn’t even bother to check the board. “Regular tea, please.”

The barista huffed good-naturedly. “You do realise that this is a Starbucks? The coffee shop where you can order a hundred different combinations of flavoured shots and enough cream to kill?”

“If that’s your way of saying that you’ve run out of teabags, then I’ll find another place to suit my needs,” said Ruben dryly. "Otherwise, I'm offended that you'd think I'd stake my suicide _here_." 

The barista shook his head, taking his time in searching for a cup and marker. Ruben’s body slowly flooded with heat as he felt the glares of the other customers in line, but the barista whistled nonchalantly, completely oblivious to his discomfort.

“Forgotten my name already?” asked Ruben as the barista started scribbling.

The amused snort that he received in response wasn’t at all reassuring. “Nope. You can go to the cashier now – I’ll take care of this.”

Scowling suspiciously at him, Ruben tried peering over the cabinet to catch a glimpse of what he had written, but the barista swerved away with a mischievous wink and gestured for him to continue onwards. As much as he wanted to demand what the barista had written – intuition told him that he should prepare himself for some humiliation shortly – there were other people in line, huffing to themselves about the hold-up, because their lunch coffee was the only thing worth waiting for in their sad lives, and God help them if they waited an extra minute because the barista was being more of a fool than usual.

He paid the cashier, noting her badge, which only had the word ‘Kid’ scrawled on it. Before he could ask her how she managed to tolerate the other baristas – one man in particular – she waved him on, and he humphed, aware that said man was smirking to himself.

But judging from the lack of spare seats, he wouldn’t be staying. In any case, he was beginning to think that twenty minutes without him at the hospital was too optimistic. He went to pick up some sugar sachets and a stirrer, when he heard a voice call out. 

“Hey! Rubik’s Cube!”

He froze. His hand clenched around the sachets. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.

The shop had fallen silent – _almost_ silent, aside from the whispers that repeated the dreaded nickname. Ah, intuition never failed him.

When he opened his eyes, anger burning in his chest, he looked to the unfamiliar barista holding up the cup. The snickers followed him as he made his way to the man - Oscar, polite enough not to repeat the offence in verifying his name but unsubtle in his grin. _Entirely_ unsubtle with his shit-eating, toothy grin.

Sure enough, there was a delightfully infantile picture of a Rubik’s Cube doodled on the side – annotated as well, to avoid any confusion. No wonder it had taken him so long.

“What a lovely drawing!” remarked Ruben. “You’re so talented, _honey_!” He shot a smile over the counter, where Sebastian had been watching out of the corner of his eye from the coffee machines.

Fortunately, the bespectacled barista overheard and barked a laugh. ‘Kid’ cracked a smile just as Sebastian’s smug expression dropped. “Seriously?” he grumbled. “You’re pulling the pet names out on me? C’mon, I thought we agreed to this.”

“All right, _darling_.” It was Ruben’s turn to smirk, and just how glorious did it feel.

Sebastian looked as though he was about to swear, but a sharp glance from his colleagues reminded him that he was in front of customers – and still expected to serve them. So instead, he muttered something under his breath, and Ruben took the cup from Oscar before heading for the exit.

But he wasn’t done yet. As Ruben approached the entrance, he turned back and said loudly, “I’ll see you at home, Sea Bass!” 

The look of horror was worth the mess in the office that he came back to.


End file.
